“In the pants?” Beulah Porter Cowys repeated.
“Yes. He didn’t touch Humphrey. He just tore the seat clear out of his pants. It was broad daylight on a busy street, and Humphrey collected quite an audience. That made him mad. He’s still mad.”
“Oh, well,” said Beulah Porter Cowys, “maybe he won’t be on duty tonight.”
“He’s always on duty. He never sleeps, for fear he might miss out on a chance to arrest someone. He loves to arrest people. He’ll arrest me as soon as he sees me.”
“That’s nonsense,” said Trent. “Policemen don’t go around arresting people just because they have a grudge against them.”
“Ha?” said Doan. “May I use your telephone, Melissa?”
Humphrey was as round and smooth and soft as a custard pie. He came huffing importantly into the apartment, flapping his hat indignantly
